What Grima would say
by Sunsong
Summary: R is for the first chapter. Rape, etc. It's 'would' as in 'wants to' say, not 'would' as in 'will' say. I've tried to keep Grima IN CHARACTER! This is an autobiography attempt. I've also tried to avoid slang. Saruman included. Etc.
1. The first ten years

Disclaimer: Everything and everyone that you remember belongs to Tolkien, the rest is mine. My only, my precious! [Computer] A/N: Here is the only time in this fic that you will get an apology for grammar and a disclaimer. I was kind of hyper when I wrote this so be very kind and PLEASE review! Thank you! PS~ I haven't seen which age Grima was when I came across him in my ROTK appendix, so I'll be assuming that he was 60. Eowyn was 24.  
  
  
  
I was twenty when I first tried to have a woman, yet she would have none of me. I humbled myself. I bought her gifts, begged her, even tried writing poetry, but to no avail. She only had eyes for Lengel, a mere guardsman. Though I tried my best to overcome her, she still resisted, until in the end I could do nothing else but take her by force. Yes she was sweet, and a virgin, as sweet and ripe as fresh cherries. Yet I knew that she would go running to her guardsman and he would accuse me like a common criminal. As though it had been my fault! She tempted me, yet when we were finally alone, she pleaded that it had only been a game. That she loved Lengel, and when she pleaded it was sweet. As any man who has the courage to do the same will know.  
  
After that I had no choice but to cut her throat. I hid the body during the remainder of the day and when Lengel was sound asleep, deposited her body next to him in his bed. I took care to bloody the bedding, walls and a highly prized dagger of his, which I left on the table. The next day Lengel was hanged for murder.  
  
I had engineered all this and now I knew my powers. Why should I waste them on a simple village when if I so chose, I could have a kingdom? Even then, in my circle of acquaintances, rumors came to me of a man who would pay well for information. As a matter of course, his name was never mentioned. I resolved to travel to Riddermark and try to make my way there. The man's headquarters were nearby, you understand, in Isengard.  
  
I learned the poisoner's trade, which would help me enormously in advancing in the man's network. I can brew poisons that make cobra venom seem no more then an irritant. I know potions that will cloud a man's mind, leaving him open to the slightest suggestion. I am able to brew up almost any concoction that you can think of.  
  
This apprenticeship of mine took me the next ten years. 


	2. The next few years and my math sucks

A/N: I've tried to keep the math, people and places accurate. If I'm wrong, I'm very sorry. This'll probably only be two or three more chapters long. I think that this is one of my better fics; by that I mean that I've kept Grima as Grima, not tampering with his language or personality unduly. If I have, I am really sorry, as I've tried to keep Grima as himself. Please review. I need encouragement very badly!  
  
  
  
I was thirty when I first entered the man's network. While at first, I was given a lowly status; within three years my talents granted me the recognition that I deserve. My master sent me on more and more difficult assignments. It was I who weakened Th?oden's erstwhile strong hold on his subjects. While those who lived in villages near him were hard to persuade of his incompetence, the villages and strongholds that lived farther away from the capital were fairly easy.  
  
During the next three years, I journeyed throughout Middle Earth. I showed my master the value of pipe-weed. I spread dissent and hopelessness throughout Gondor. I brought my master news of Denethor's madness, or at the least it's start.  
  
In Mirkwood, I was able to persuade the spiders to shrink even more the territory Thranduil and his company kept safe. Although it was not as though they needed much persuasion. Elves are a fairly superstitious race and if omens and such occur that sap their fighting spirit; can those omens be blamed upon someone in any way?  
  
The man I have spoken of used a palantiri. Although, since I am unable to leave Orthanc at the moment, I may as well write down my employer's name. His name is Saruman.  
  
Those were a busy eight years I described. I then returned to the Riddermark to work in Rohan. It was then that I first saw Eowyn, Eomund's daughter. Although she was only six at the time, I saw her for what she would be as a woman- and I have ever had this skill. She would be more fair then the moonlight, and more perilous then steel, for she would wield the steel, not as a weapon, but as a thing of beauty in and of itself. I saw and understood what reward I would and could demand of my master. Why should I settle for a mere woman when I could have a queen herself? Or, someone who knew who and what she was? It would be a challenge to mold her, to force her to my will. However, I knew I was capable of such a challenge.  
  
My master acquiesced; I was promised that when Th?oden's house fell, I would have Eowyn. Then she would be mine, mine to me!  
  
I kept working in Rohan. It was easy to flatter, persuade or coerce merchants and tavern keepers (those are truly the best trades for gathering information) into giving up any news they held. In time, my network of informants was widely flung. At approximately that time, I was able to persuade Saruman to send a foray of orcs to kill her parents. This left her an orphan and in Th?oden's house.  
  
I persuaded the Rohirrim that the Woses were little more then animals. They did not live, look or act particularly like humans. Hence, they could not be humans. Clever, eh?  
  
I next severed Gondor from her allies, concentrating hardest on Rohan. The South Landers did not require much persuasion. The peoples of the coast never appreciated the reign of a steward who merely sent tax collectors, and explained that the Rangers were stretched thin as it was. So on and so forth through all of her allies. In Rohan, well.I realized I would have to work with Th?oden himself. However, all along I had been building up to this, Eowyn in his house, Rohan weakened.now all I needed was a way. I was now forty three. 


	3. On to Theoden's hall!

A/N: Thank you Penn, Thalia, Eldar wannabe and Nettles for reviewing. I *always *appreciate reviews. Yes, I do think Grima may have been that important because he chose to go to Saruman instead of to stay with Thèoden. I also think that it's entirely possible that Saruman had a network of informants. Yes, I know he had the palantiri, but it must have been exhausting to use. This way Saruman could avoid using his strength, and still get information on the outside world. Besides, in The Silmarillion, it states that Saruman had a network of information. Before you flame me for being sexist, first of all I'm female, and second this is Grima saying this. * Grima*, and not I. Oh, no, I don't like Grima all that much, but he's a pretty interesting character, when all's said and done.  
  
It took me time, yet I managed to contrive a way. Thèoden made sure to personally pronounce justice for each case that was heard. If I could somehow arrange to be caught at my own craft, I was confident that I could soon turn the situation to my advantage.  
  
I soon realized that if this were contrived, it would be far too risky to my network to manage it in Thèoden's own household. True, if I had my way I would be above suspicion, yet the Rohirrim are a warlike race and I doubted that the messengers would be able to deliver their messages to me if they were suffering from decapitation. I quickly laid my plans. First, I began looking around for a new head of operations. He must be ambitious enough to supplant me, yet not ambitious enough to think my head an ornament for my shoulders that should be removed. I say "he" for women are weak, ever prey to their emotions.  
  
After a year of searching he was located. Over the next four years, I slowly transferred the reins from my hands to his. He was intelligent and picked things up quickly. He was also intelligent enough to know that I was willing to let him have power if he continued to defer to me.  
  
Once I was satisfied that the reins were securely positioned, I moved into the second stage of my plans, that of making the least-vital piece of my network more and more obvious. I knew that soon or late Thèoden would take notice me and then, I would be brought to judgment. In the third year of such obviousness it happened. Soldiers of the Mark burst in to my house and took me prisoner. I made sure to cringe in terror, and to act the part of a criminal. I also left three or four incriminating documents on my nightstand.  
  
When brought in to Thèoden's hall, I made sure to give a convincing performance. I pleaded that I had thought I was helping Rohan. That I had had no knowledge of what I had done. I flattered and cajoled, humbled myself, begged, and it worked. I was allowed to wander Thèoden's dwelling, but forbidden to leave it.  
  
I was now fifty.  
  
A/N: Eowyn is now fourteen. 


	4. The third decade

A/N: This chapter has a span of about ten years and was written listening to the lyrics to the "Phantom of the Opera" (Broadway). The movie version of FOTR's soundtrack is magnificent, but not inspirational.  
  
Disclaimer: Guess what? This all belongs to Tolkien; I'm just filling in the gaps.  
  
"The chief obstacles to an easy conquest of Rohan by Saruman  
were Theodred and Eomer: they were vigorous men, devoted to the  
King, and high in his affections, as his only son and his sister-  
son; and they did all that they could to thwart the influence  
over him that Grima gained when the King's health began to fail.  
This occurred early in the year 3014, when Thèoden was 66; his  
malady may thus have been due to natural causes, though the  
Rohirrim commonly lived till near or beyond their 80th year.  
But it may well have been induced or increased by subtle  
poisons, administered by Grima. In any case Thèoden's sense of  
weakness and dependence on Grima was largely due to the cunning  
and skill of this evil counselor's suggestions. It was his  
policy to bring his chief opponents into discredit with Thèoden,  
and if possible to get rid of them. It proved impossible to set  
them at odds with one another: Thèoden before his "sickness" had  
been much loved by all his kind and people, and the loyalty of  
Theodred and Eomer remained steadfast, even in his apparent  
dotage. Eomer also was not an ambitious man, and his love and  
respect for Theodred (thirteen years older than he) was only  
second to his love of his foster-father. Grima therefore tried  
to play them one against the other in the mind of Theoden,  
representing Eomer as ever eager to increase his own authority  
and to act without consulting the King or his heir." (The  
Battles of the Fords of Isen, Unfinished Tales, J.R.R. Tolkien)  
  
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I watched as Eowyn, Eomer and Thèoden's son grew close to adulthood. For all that Eomer and Theodred saw through the mask I had erected around myself. I made sure to discredit their counsel, showing Thèoden of young men's impatience, impetuosity, ambition and ability to deceive themselves. I do not know if Eowyn saw through me, for she is habitually silent. I do know that she fulfilled what I saw in her when she was a child. Eowyn grew older, and perilously fair. As she grew older, I watched her. It was as though she had bewitched me, leaving me unable to truly concentrate on anything other than her.  
  
Over time I came to realize that Eowyn would never love a man old enough to be a father to her willingly. Eowyn would rather have a swordsman than a scholar. I am no scholar, yet I would rather read than wield a sword. The only way Eowyn would ever accept myself, as her husband would be if I broke her. I set myself to the task. Eowyn, although trained as a shield- maiden was not allowed on raids, yes, this was my doing. How else could I be able to touch her, see her, and watch her daily? I am mere flesh and blood, no automaton; for all that I easily play the part.  
  
All the same, I continued to concentrate what I could of my attentions on Thèoden. I could afford no missteps now. Saruman would not take kindly to such. He held a key position in the defense of Rohan; if he were to leave the gap of Isen open, a veritable army could come through and take Rohan.  
  
I do not know if I alienated all the Rohirrim from me. I do know that Hâma and the other wardens were ever wary of me, and rightly so! Wormtongue they named me, well, they saw the truth, if not the truth they should have seen and never cared to look for.  
  
Within my fifth year in Thèoden's service, I was able to come and go as I pleased. I quickly began to rediscover my spy network. I quickly discovered that for all I had slipped Thèoden into dotage, Eomer and Theodred were hunting down my spies with frenzy. I was forced to dismantle my network and gather information myself. Yet, in my eighth year of service to Thèoden, I was able to reconstruct my spy network. Eomer and Theodred, believing the network dismantled, left it in peace. They were ever-simpleminded fools. This time I took precautions with my network. I could now dismantle it and reconstruct it in utter secrecy and with merely one or two choice words. What was now to be done was to discredit Gandalf the Grey.I fell to pondering. However, in my tenth year of my "service" I was soon provided with an opportunity I had not dared to dream of!  
  
A/N: In chapter five...the "lending" of Shadowfax. All bookverse! 


	5. The lending of Shadowfax

A/N: Hear ye! Hear ye! Finally cometh the long awaited update! Hear ye! Hear ye! . . . Just in case you haven't guessed yet. Yes, this is an attempt to write out the lending of Shadowfax, I'm sorry it's taken so long. I am sorry if I cannot write out the speech of the Rohirrim, but rest assured that I have tried.  
  
Disclaimer: As I'm sure you're aware of, this is all Tolkien's, I'm just filling in the gaps.  
  
TTFN,  
  
Sunsong  
  
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I was sixty, or close enough. My bones were stiff in the mornings, yet not so stiff as Thèoden's, especially when assisted by one of my brews. I also made sure to make that brew addictive; there is no sense in controlling a king if he can easily rid himself of your control.  
  
It was early one morning, certainly before ten o'clock, when Gandalf Greyhame appeared at the Mark's doors. I was not pleased, Thèoden had not yet become fully addicted to my potion, and I was wary of Gandalf's ability to see what I had contrived. I therefore remained very much in the background. My habitual dark garments and hair help me blend in with the shadows; I used my ability to the fullest. I was, however, keeping careful track of the conversation. What I saw first startled, and then pleased me.  
  
" . . . Thèoden son of Thengel, it is not only Rohan that is besieged, it is her ally, Gondor as well, yet it is not only Gondor and Rohan. There is Rivendell, Mirkwood, Dale, a host of other lands! Thèoden Thengel's son, I ask of you aid! You may count Saruman the White a friend; he has acted so in the past. Yet, in the nearer past, he has come to serve Sauron and has imprisoned me. Isengard is preparing for war. You yourself know of its control of the Isen, a key position. I ask you, if you will not aid your allies and the Elves, at the least set a guard there! Thèoden the son of Thengel, I pray you, aid me in my cause!" Thèoden stirred, a momentary alertness present in his eyes, yet I had done my work well.  
  
"Master Gandalf, you have said it yourself, Saruman the White and Wise is a Friend and Ally of Rohan. He has told us of your desire for power. I will hear no more slander, take what horse you will and be gone!"  
  
"Thèoden, son of Thengel, if not for yourself, then for your people. Grant me aid!" The King I have claimed to serve seemed to gather himself momentarily. He raised one wrinkle hand that shook as in a gale.  
  
"Gandalf Greyhame, I have said I would hear no more of your slander. Once again, take whatsoever horse you will and be gone!" Thèoden then slumped back into his throne. Hâma strode forward and escorted Gandalf out.  
  
None of the various warriors seemed overly cheered at Gandalf's presumptuousness. Yet my victory was made complete when word came of his stealing Shadowfax. The Grey Wanderer had quite effectively damaged himself in the eyes of the Warriors of the Mark. It was time to be certain that through the use of my network that news would be spread throughout all of Rohan!  
  
Yet Eomer and Theodred watched me carefully. Of Eowyn I cannot say. She was silent.  
  
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A/N: Well, should I continue? I'm debating one or two last chapters. It'll be up to you. Up 'till when should I continue this story, or end it here? If nothing else, please review.  
  
Ps. I apologize if I have failed to write the character's speech the way it should have been. All I have to say in my defense is the knowledge of my having tried. 


	6. The curing of Theoden

A/N: I am sorry this took so long, but what I was writing came out horrible, I messed up my characterization and I was on a drawing kick at the time. Email me if you want some pics. Don't worry, this should be a long chapter; and much taken straight from The Two Towers , the chapter is The King of the Golden Hall. I'm still trying to decide when to end this fic . . . there is also the fact that I'm trying to dodge two very-large- and-vicious plotbunnies entailing much legwork. Wish me luck!  
  
Sunsong  
  
Ps. I am not and never have been a Grima luster.  
  
Disclaimer: All right, all right, it's Tolkien's. *Mutters * Until I get my lawyer and about 3 million dollars. . .  
  
You may want to look chapter four over again; my Unfinished Tales just came in from BN.com.  
  
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I remember the second day of March very clearly. It was a cold and brilliant day; the sort of day thought to belong more to the winter than to the beginning of spring. It was the day that Gandalf compelled Thèoden to rid himself of me. That should have been impossible; as stated before, I had purposely made my potions addictive.  
  
It was midmorning when Gandalf and his three companions arrived at the Hall. I was on the dais by Thèoden's feet, advising and preventing any tendencies to independent thought. I would not speak first, for that would give power to the four gray figures. Thèoden could think well enough to play the game of power.  
  
Gandalf spoke first. "Hail, Thèoden son of Thengel! I have returned. For behold! The storm comes and now all friends should gather together, lest each singly be destroyed."  
  
The Lord of the Mark slowly arose. He spoke. "I greet you, and maybe you look for welcome. But truth to tell your welcome is doubtful here, Master Gandalf. You have ever been a herald of woe. Troubles follow you like crows, and ever the oftener the worse. I will not deceive you: when I heard that Shadowfax had come back riderless, I rejoiced at the return of the horse, but still more at the lack of the riders; and when Eomer brought the tidings that you had gone at last to your long home, I did not mourn. But news from afar is seldom sooth. Here you come again! And with you come evils worse than before, as might be expected. Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow? Tell me that." Slowly he sat down again in his chair. It would not have been apparent to a casual, or even a close observer, yet I could see that he was shaken. I needed to quickly speak, lest Gandalf undo all that I had wrought.  
  
I then said, "You speak justly, lord." I pitched my voice to carry over the hall, and my first words were praise, for I knew I should first flatter Thèoden if I wished to keep his attention. "It is not yet five days since the bitter tidings came that Theodred your son was slain upon the West Marches: your right-hand, Second Marshal of the Mark." That sentence was to slide him into grief and keep him from thinking clearly. Now to remind him not to trust Eomer, as Eomer and I were ever enemies. "In Eomer there is little trust. Few men would be left to guard your walls, if he had been allowed to rule." The Rohirrim were starting to isolate themselves; this was all to the good. I knew as well as my master the adage 'divide and conquer.' Now to drive another wedge between Rohan and Gondor, "And even now we learn from Gondor that the Dark Lord is stirring in the East. Such is the hour in which this wanderer chooses to return." It was now time to truly reinforce Thèoden's earlier words. "Why indeed should we welcome you Master Stormcrow? Lathspell I name you," I gave him an epithet in the Rohirric tongue, but for the benefit of his three followers- and for the sake of the jest- chose to translate it. "Ill-news; and ill news is an ill guest they say." I laughed, grimly, at my jape and looked towards the three figures to gauge the effect of my words. Although astonished to see an elf and a dwarf at ease in the other's company, it was the man who momentarily held my attention. Somehow, I thought I had seen him before. I shook my head slightly to clear it, and focused on Lathspell's words.  
  
The wizard answered me in a soft, deep voice. I listened, the better to combat what he was saying. "You are held wise, my friend Wormtongue, and are doubtless a great support to your master. Yet in two ways may a man come with evil tidings. He may be a worker of evil; or he may be such as leaves well alone, and comes only to bring aid in time of need."  
  
His friend? I was only his friend in as much as he was mine; that is to say, not at all. I must answer, I dared not let him go unchallenged and waste my work. "That is so," I said; "but there is a third kind: pickers of bones, meddlers in other men's sorrows, carrion-fowl that grow fat on war." I had called up the memory of Theodred and reiterated the wizard's title of Stormcrow. Now to speak of aid and keep Thèoden away from the charlatan's influence. "What aid have you ever brought, Stormcrow? And what aid do you bring now? It was aid from us that you sought last time you were here. Then my lord bade you choose any horse you would and be gone; and to the wonder of all you took Shadowfax in your insolence. My lord was sorely grieved; yet to some," like I, "it seemed that to speed you from the land the price was not to great." Horses and I have never been friends, Shadowfax least of all. "I guess that it is likely to turn out the same once more: you will seek aid rather than render it. Do you bring men? Do you bring horses, swords, spears? That I would call aid; that is our present need. But who are these that follow at your tail? Three ragged wanderers in grey, and you yourself the most beggarlike of the four!"  
  
"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Theoden son of Thengel," said Gandalf. "Has not the messenger from your gate reported the names of my companions? Seldom has any lord of Rohan received three such guests. Weapons they have laid at your doors that are worth many a mortal man, even the mightiest. Gray is their raiment, for the elves clad them, and thus they have passes through the shadow of great perils to your hall."  
  
I could not confront Gandalf on rank; mine was not earned by birth, but rather earned through skills. Yet elves were another matter entirely, there I had weapons; the warriors of Rohan had ever feared magic. "Then it is true, as Eomer reported, that you are in league with the Sorceress of the Golden Wood?" said I. "It is not to be wondered at: webs of deceit were ever woven in Dwimordene."  
  
The dwarf strode a pace forwards, but the charlatan prevented him by clamping a hand to the dwarf's shoulder. The dwarf halted, standing statue- stiff.  
  
"In Dwimordene, in Lorien  
  
Seldom have walked the feet of Men  
  
Few mortal eyes have seen the light  
  
That lies there ever, long and bright.  
  
Galadriel! Galadriel!  
  
Clear is the water of your well;  
  
White is the star in your white hand;  
  
Unmarred, unstained is leaf and land  
  
In Dwimordene, in Lorien  
  
More fair than thoughts of Mortal Men."  
  
Thus Gandalf softly sang, half lulling me with his deep voice, and then suddenly changed. Casting his tattered cloak aside, he stood up and leaned no longer on his staff; and he spoke in a clear cold voice.  
  
"The wise speak only of what they know, Grima son of Galmod. A witless worm have you become. Therefore be silent and keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a serving-man till the lightning falls." On the heels of his soft voice, this came too quickly for me to react.  
  
The wizard raised his staff. Thunder rolled and the sunlight was blotted out from the eastern windows; the whole hall suddenly became dark as night. The fire faded to sullen embers. This I took in at a glance. However, it was Gandalf whom I, even now, must at least delay, and so I rallied myself again.  
  
I hissed, "did I not counsel you, lord, to forbid his staff? That fool, Hama, has betrayed us!" There was a flash like lightning and I received a blow in the back of my head. I was knocked unconscious and remained so for far too long.  
  
I was awakened by a great cry of "Command us!" Feeling groggy, but wary, I slightly raised my head. Seeing the dais was empty, I ventured to raise my head further. The entire room was empty. I slowly got to my feet, and attempted to massage the ache from the back of my skull.  
  
I had only just decided to go to the infirmary and seek a headache remedy when Hama burst into the room and demanded the sword of Thèoden from my keeping. Although at first I refused, when he lunged and wrestled me for the keys, I had no choice but to acquiesce. However, I will say that even after being subdued, I still managed to reach for my dagger. If I could only manage to stab him . . . unfortunately, two of his friends happened by. After pinning my arms behind my back, they marched me to my quarters. After the warriors ransacked my chambers, they searched me! I shall not give you a list of the indignities offered me. Suffice it to say, that by the time they were over, I was more than ready to murder.  
  
I was marched down from my quarters, through the hall, and outside. I blinked a little at the bright sunlight. Cringing a little away from the men who were holding me (having your arms pinned behind your back is somewhat painful) I watched as Hama presented Theoden with his sword.  
  
"Here, lord, is Herugrim, your ancient blade," he said. "It was found in his chest. Loth was he to render up the keys. Many other things are there which men have missed."  
  
I could not let that accusation of robbery pass- whether it is true or no, is of no matter now- and so I spoke. "You lie," said I, "and this sword your master himself gave into my keeping."  
  
"And now he requires it of you again," said Thèoden. "Does that displease you?"  
  
I could easily read the threat contained in those words. "Assuredly not, lord." I frantically searched for a way to bring him back under my influence and delay the wizard. "I care for you and yours as best I may. But do not weary yourself, or tax too heavily your strength. Let others deal with these irksome guests." I could deal with these troublesome visitors, using my dagger. "Your meat is about to be set on the board. Will you not go to it?"  
  
"I will," said Thèoden. "And let food for my guests be set on the board beside me. The host rides today. Send the heralds forth! Let them summon all who draw nigh! Every man and strong lad able to bear arms, all who have horses, let them be ready in the saddle at the gate ere the second hour from noon!"  
  
"Dear lord!" cried I. "It is as I feared. This wizard has bewitched you. Are none to be left to defend the Golden Hall of your fathers, and all your treasure?" The latter item was hardly the latter in my thoughts. "None to guard the Lord of the Mark?"  
  
"If this is bewitchment," said Thèoden. "It seems to be more wholesome than your whisperings. Your leechcraft ere long would have had me walking on all fours like a beast. No, not one shall be left, not even Grima. Grima shall ride too. Go! You have yet time to clean the rust from your sword."  
  
I tried once again; if nothing else I must prevent Thèoden from mustering the Mark or fail my master. "Mercy lord!" I even attempted to grovel on the ground. "Have pity on one worn out in your service. Send my not from your side! I at least will stand by you when all others have gone. Do not send your faithful Grima away!"  
  
"You have my pity," said Thèoden. "And I do not send you from my side. I go myself to war with my men. I bid you come with me and prove your faith."  
  
I looked desperately from face to face, seeking a way out and nervously licking my lips. I can barely wield a sword! It would be suicide for me to go to war. I knew I must try again. "Such a resolve might be expected from a lord of the House of Eorl, old though he be," I said. "But those who truly love him would spare his failing years. Yet I see that I come too late. Others, whom the death of my lord would perhaps grieve less, have already persuaded him. If I cannot undo their work, hear me at least in this, lord! On who knows your mind and honors your commands should be left in Edoras. Appoint a faithful steward. Let your counselor Grima keep all things till your return- and I pray we may see it, though no wise man will deem it hopeful"  
  
Eomer laughed. "And if that plea does not excuse you from war, most noble Wormtongue," he said, "what office of less honor would you accept? To carry a sack of meal into the mountains- if any man would trust you with it.?"  
  
"Nay, Eomer, you do not fully understand the mind of Master Wormtongue," said Gandalf, turning his glance upon me. "He is bold and cunning. Even now he plays a game with peril and wins a throw. Down snake!" He said suddenly, in a voice to terrify even I. "Down on your belly! How long is it since Saruman bought you? What was the promised price? When all the men were dead, you were to pick your share of the treasure, and take the woman you desire? Too long have you watched her under your eyelids and haunter her steps."  
  
Eomer grasped his sword. "That I knew already," he muttered. "For that reason I would have slain him before, forgetting the law of the hall. But there are other reasons." He stepped forward, but Gandalf stayed him with his hand.  
  
"Eowyn is safe now," he said. He then turned to me. "But you, Wormtongue, you have done what you could for your true master. Some reward you have earned at least. Yet Saruman is apt to overlook his bargains. I should advise you to go quickly and remind him, lest he forget your faithful service."  
  
"You lie," said I. I was not sure if this applied to the accusation- I could Not Afford this- or to my master's forgetting his bargain with me. He would not dare. We know each other well, he and I.  
  
"That word comes too oft and easy from your lips," said Gandalf. He then turned away. "I do not lie. See, Thèoden, here is a snake! With safety you cannot take it with you, nor can you leave it behind. To slay it would be just. But it was not always as it now is. Once it was a man, and did you service in its fashion. Give him a horse and let him go at once, wherever he chooses. By his choice you shall judge him."  
  
Thèoden did not even deign too look at me. "Do you hear this, Wormtongue?" said Thèoden. "This is your choice: to ride with me to war and let us see in battle if you are true; or to go now, whither you will. But then, if ever we meet again, I shall not be merciful."  
  
I slowly rose, looking at them all with half-closed eyes. I last scanned Thèoden's face. I almost spoke. I might have yet gone with him, for Eowyn's sake, but then I saw his eyes. He would never forget what I had attempted. I drew myself up. The insults, slights, and manhandling I would never forgive. My hands itched for my dagger and convulsively clenched and unclenched. I do not know what my face looked like, yet it was sufficient to make some step back. I bared my teeth and hissed a curse, then spat at Thèoden's feet to lodge it. Then, not wishing to be slain, I darted to one side and down a stair.  
  
Above me, I heard orders given by the lord I had pretended to serve. At the least they would allow me a horse.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
I am very much driven by praise.  
  
More so than praise, are the thank-yous owed to constructive critiquers.  
  
**********  
  
My thanks, in no particular order:  
  
Angelonfire: I'm glad you liked it, and I am aware I plug shamelessly. Hmm, it probably *would * sound cool in Elvish.  
  
Grace: My thanks, I'll email you later (and more effusively). People, if you liked my work- READ HERS! Her pen name is Eldarwannabe.  
  
Emilee: *blushes * Thank you!  
  
Artemis: I am not a Grima luster. I just think he's a really interesting character and, since I could never find a well-written Grima fic, I decided to try my own. Funny, this is the first serious piece of fanfiction I've written that isn't a Mary-Sue.  
  
Elf Ears: I'll see about the Scouring of the Shire. Please be aware that if I get anything up before August fourth, however, I'll be very surprised. Finals (nine!) are coming up and then I'll be at a 'net free sleepaway camp. I *will * try, though.  
  
Katakanadian: Well, I'm sorry I didn't stick in an in-between chapter (between each of Gandalf's visits) but the one I wrote sucked. Without "Laws and Customs of Middle Earth" I couldn't do what I wanted, and what I attempted instead . . . even *I * think it sucked.  
  
Pierre, a.k.a. the Yellow Elf: I tried for the paragraphs- ff.net eats them, however!  
  
Meg: I hope this qualifies as a "long chapter."  
  
Mysti San: Thank you for the praise!  
  
Ara E R Took: Well, I did "keep at it," and I'm pleased you enjoyed it!  
  
Delilah: Thank you for pointing out my errors. I hope this came out canonical.  
  
Ephor: No, I don't really think he's that evil. Dark? Certainly. Evil? Maybe. Lovely, now I've got an idea for a completely different take on him.(note to self: Stay with this story, *then * try the other one).  
  
Morwen the Mole Queen: Thank you for the praise!  
  
Electra292: Thank you as well!  
  
Greyladybast: Having read your writing, (which was consistently great) your praise means much. *bows *  
  
Gaslight: I agree about the numbers of interpretations- as typed previously, I have another way to look at him bouncing around. Okaaaaaaaaay, this is not good. . . .  
  
Pennhothwenn: No, I haven't had this beta'd. I wish I *had * a beta reader though. . . . (for all you people reading this)  
  
Thalia Weaver: You liked it? Goody! Guys? If any of you have made it this far? READ HER FICS! You thought this was good? Try hers!  
  
Black Mandragora: Thank you!  
  
A thank you to you all!  
  
Sunsong 


	7. Treebeard makes an appearance! Speaking...

A/N: Much thanks is owed to Morwen the Mole Queen, who (accidentally, in leaving that thirty first review) nudged me for an update. So, here it is. I was feeling whimsical today, and remembered a horse a friend of mine owns. This horse is named "Jock." I have no idea why.  
  
Incidentally, I am not a Grima-girl. The first chapter sort of wrote itself, and then I wanted to see where this fic might take me.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
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I rode for I know not how many days. The horse I had selected when last in Thèoden's stables had seemed perfectly tractable and rather calm. I am a very poor rider. Therefore I picked it. This dark red horse is a consummate actor. No sooner had I left the stables and turned in the direction of Isengard, than it began to eat. And eat. And eat. And guess what else? Eat! I tried pleading, cajoling; I begged; eventually I lost patience. I have but one question now: how do I get off this frenzied, galloping, madbeast? Horse is too kind a term. I have decided to call it "Nazgul." And why? Because it emulates their temper perfectly!  
  
Enough of that. I rode out of a stew-thick fog towards the ring (and what I later learned was, and shall now term, the wreckage) of Isengard. When I later entered the ring, I saw that although the tower itself was not wrecked, it rose out of an unnatural lake (?!) and numerous items floated nearby. I later spied iron railings half sunk, bits of wood, barrels and stones poking their heads up and out of the water. It was when I saw the clouds of steam and smoke which wreathed the tower like the clutching shadow of a black hand (and the figures of, so I thought, the besieging army) that I attempted to turn around and rejoin Thèoden's army. I could stay at its tail by the baggage caravans. Rohan was mustering all the people it could for the coming war. Thèoden had called up old men who had not wielded a weapon in ten years, as well as boys who should not do so for half that time. I could easily disguise myself as an old man, and . . .  
  
I rode directly into a monster out of children's tales. Well, not into. I took it for no more than a large tree, when I attempted to turn back. I was rudely lifted from my saddle and spoken at. This tree-thing barely paused to hear my reply. It looked like some unholy hybrid of tree and man, and possessed a deep bass rumble of a voice. Come, Grima, none shall read this- set down the truth. I was afraid and this fear made me careless.  
  
I babbled, "I am Grima, a friend and the counsellor of King Thèoden. I have been sent as courier and bear an urgent dispatch for Saruman." My second mistake was in volunteering information; this just makes you look all the more guilty. "No one else would dare to ride through the open land, so full of foul Orcs, so I was sent. And I have had a perilous journey, and I am hungry and weary. I fled far north out of my way, pursued by wolves." The 'pursued by wolves' bit was quite definitely untrue. This nag of mine ran north because I could not stop it! I eyed the tree-man's face; what I saw did not reassure me.  
  
"Ha, hm, I was expecting you master Wormtongue." I was startled by Gandalf's epithet coming from such an unlikely source. The thing rumbled on. "Gandalf got here first!" Curse that, that, pah! I am unable to think of words foul enough. "So I know as much about you as I need, and I know what to do with you. Put all the rats in one trap, said Gandalf; and I will. I am the master of Isengard now, but Saruman is locked in his tower; and you can go there and give him all the messages you can think of." I was afraid, and dazed, and so I made my third mistake; I spoke wildly. This merely confirmed my guilt.  
  
I cried, "let me go, let me go! I know the way!"  
  
"You knew the way, I don't doubt, but things have changed here a little. Go and see!" I was let go, but when I came inside the ring, I knew I had made a grave mistake by merely coming here. Though ashamed of it now, I did whine then.  
  
"Let me go away! Let me go away! My messages are useless now!" I had played one of my last game pieces.  
  
"They are indeed, but you have only tow choices: to stay with me until Gandalf and your master arrive; or to cross the water. Which will you have?"  
  
I knew Thèoden would not forgive me, so I stuck my foot into the brackish liquid. Then I remembered, "I cannot swim." I said slowly.  
  
A reply came of "the water is not deep. It is dirty, but that will not harm you Master Wormtongue. In you go now!"  
  
With that I was forced to wade into the flood. It rose deeper and deeper about me. I forced myself not to panic; this may have been the only courage I have ever showed. However, I luckily espied a barrel floating close by. I clasped it to me and floated off in the direction of the doorway. It is lucky that the current was moving that way; I cannot ride well either nags or barrels. I soon floundered onto the doorstep. From what I can remember, I suppose I looked rather small and soggy. A hand pulled me in. The face of my Master greeted me. He had drawn his features into a mask of illegibility.  
  
"Well, Grima son of Galmod?" This formality did not bode well for me . . .  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
A/N: Well? Did you like it? If so, kindly push that little button over there. The one with "submit review" right next to it. 


	8. Cabin fever!

A/N: *looks at computer in shock * I am actually updating! Wow. I'm just glad there's only one more chapter after this one- I am only taking this up to the Scouring of the Shire. Period. Please remind to only attempt vignettes in the future. Apparently, I'm not much good at updating promptly.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
"Well, son of Galmod? Speak!"  
  
"Yes, master." I licked lips that had suddenly and unaccountably grown dry, while the rest of me was sodden. "I have been sent from Thèoden's hall, and- "  
  
"-Sent! You have failed me Grima. I do not tolerate failure." My master raised his staff, I saw my chance for mercy. Or, at least, to play on his self-interest. I flung myself, down on my belly, down on the cold stone floor.  
  
"Mercy! I have not the power to grapple with Gandalf the White! I tried, but, in power, he is more than my equal." Saruman lowered his staff and stared off into the distance. I did not yet dare to rise.  
  
He murmured, softly, "Gandalf the White? As the Grey, he rode seeking my counsel . . . now, now, what of me?" What of him? Why, I had served him, and faithfully, for years. What of him!  
  
"So, this time, I will be merciful. Wormtongue- for I do know that name you were given- explain further." I rose, slowly, for my joints are stiff, and were assuredly not liking my half-drowned condition.  
  
"My lord, pray give me time to change into dry things. Then I shall organize my thoughts and present them to you in a better fashion than I might now."  
  
"Nay," he laughed. He laughed. Yet, as he was merciful, I was merciful. This time. "You shall tell me now, Wormtongue. I find I like that name. And, it does suit you."  
  
I swallowed my anger and launched into a full description. I left little out, for little could be served that way. Saruman prefers to hear the whole of the matter, then decide- or so he says. However, I will admit I changed a few words here and there. Not many, though I did leave out a small bit of my last pleas- and, more importantly, Eowyn. Some measure of me is still my own.  
  
"Very well." Saruman waved a hand at me. "You may go."  
  
****  
  
The next two days were horrible. My master beat me at chess, while I won at backgammon. He sniped at me near constantly. I had served him, been the only one to serve him truly (his Uruk-hai served from fear, I had given him my loyalty), for, though I may lie, cheat and steel, I am loyal, still. For, look you, he had been great- once- and wise, and noble and powerful. Powerful enough to still command some measure of power. Yet more the insults to me- I had endured worse, in Rohan, and for him- were the insults to Eowyn. I have that much light left in me- or enough Shadow to recognize the Light.  
  
I saw his jealousy of his Palantir- for he gloated over it often, telling me I had not the wit to use it- and the seeds of a plan began hatching in my mind. Through trial and error, I discovered it could neither be smashed nor shattered in its room. Thus, the seeds of a plan began forming in my mind.  
  
The water, by now, had drained.  
  
***  
  
It was high noon when a dull booming sound reverberated through the Tower. A voice penetrated the stone too. A well remembered voice. That of the charlatan, Storm-Crow.  
  
"Saruman, Saruman!" He cried in a loud commanding voice. "Saruman, come forth!" My master was, as was his wont, seated on his throne. I was pondering the next move on the game-board.  
  
"Wormtongue." I looked up, and then moved my queen's pawn. "Wormtongue, you will answer that door."  
  
I got up, for I did not trust my tongue, and unbarred the window over the door. I did not trust some keen-eyed archer to shoot an arrow at me should I show myself, and therefore remained unseen. "Who is it?" I called. "What do you wish?"  
  
I heard some murmurings of that mindless maggot-pie, called Lord of the Mark. Does he curse the day he first listened to me? I curse the day he listened to the charlatan.  
  
Then the charlatan called, "Go, and fetch Saruman, since you have become his footman, Grima Wormtongue! And do not waste our time!"  
  
Waste his time? Very well, I would not. I would, however, say what he had said to Saruman.  
  
My master spoke. I cannot repeat what he said, nor his intonation, but let this be known: I may have the tongue of a serpent, dripping poison into any ear that will listen; Saruman has the poisoned-honey tongue of Sauron's master, himself. Then, they argued. I listened, not to the words, but to the power shown here. At the breaking of my master's staff, Gandalf the Grey showed his power. I had bided insults in Rohan, I had been manhandled and slighted in my exit, Gandalf had been more offensive then usual, my master an ingrate, very well, I resolved. Perhaps, at one stroke, I could harm my master deeply and kill off a little missed meddler. Unfortunately, my aim was poor. The palantir missed the charlatan, and, worse luck, did not shatter. My master would not forgive me this. I set myself to wait, and bide my time, for a more thorough vengeance.  
  
~*~*~**~*~~*~~  
  
Well? Constructive critiscism, as always, appreciated.  
  
*starts singing under her breath to the tune of "99 bottles of pop on the wall" * One more chapter TO type up, ONE MORE to type up . . .  
  
*stops singing *  
  
If my horribly off-key voice hasn't driven you away by now, please review. 


	9. Footsore

A/n: Well, whadda' ya' know. I'm actually continuing this fic. Kindly don't act so surprised. For those who are wondering, my muse recently whacked me at the base of my skull with her polished oak staff. Constructive criticism, as always, appreciated. Ok, I was wrong with my last chapter. There's actually this and one more chapter to type up. After which (and finishing my other two fics), I hope to write out several plotbunnies which are currently on hold. Several are LOTR. A few are not.  
  
~*~*~**~*~**~**~~**~*~***~*~**~*~*~*~  
  
It was August 15 when at last we left Isengard. Isengard, which had been my master's fortress, and had been transformed by that charlatan into our prison. I still respect Saruman inasmuch as he gained our freedom from those great walking sticks! It is a pity they were not fodder for the fires of Isengard. There is much I would give towards that end.  
  
Enough, I ramble. We crept out of Isengard under the shadow of those talking trees. We had barely gained the sunlight before my feet started to ache. Yet I still obey my master, and so I slunk on. Saruman is ungrateful. He forgets all that I have done for him. One day, yes, one day soon I shall make him remember. Yet while he can still wield the shadows and powers of my own mind against me- I shall obey. He has already forgotten what I have still achieved. He has forgotten that I was the one who arranged our bolt-hole. We are headed to the West, to the Shire. We are bound for the home of the halflings to work what mischief we may. I have lain the groundwork well. Now, to work!  
  
****  
  
On August 28, Saruman and I were overtaken by that Stormcrow, Gandalf. He engaged Saruman in conversation. I was silent until addressed by Saruman.  
  
"Get up, you idiot!" he shouted to me. I had sat down on the ground; and he struck me with his staff. "Turn about! If these fine folk are going our way, then we will take another. Get on, or I'll give you no crust for your supper!"  
  
Although I hate him, he still holds power over me. So I turned and slouched past him, cringing servilely and whinging, "poor old Grima! Poor old Grima! Always beaten and cursed! How I hate him! I wish I could leave him!"  
  
"Then leave him," said Gandalf. Leave him? Him? Did the old fool not know what he was asking? I would flee from my dreams in terror every night and keep watch behind my shoulders every day. And so, I shuffled quickly behind Saruman. I ignored what else was said; it did not concern me, and I was beyond caring what trouble my master's tongue bought him.  
  
***  
  
My master and I pressed forward by day. He strode forwards, leaning on his staff, but moving ever Westward, ever moved by revenge. When I stopped to rest- for my feet constantly ached- I was driven on by curses, and if the curses would not stir me, the blows from that staff would. He was driven for revenge on the halflings; I was driven by the thought that perhaps one day, I might avenge myself on him.  
  
And so it was that, on September 22, Saruman and I came to our last home. 


	10. Fin

A/N: Since I have no more than a very vague picture in my head of what Grima and Saruman actually did in the Shire- you shall only get the end of what happened. But it shall actually be "the end." Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! I am so happy. Enjoy! It's 3:16 a.m. and I've started typing. Please review. Constructively.  
  
~~*~*~**~**~*~**~**~*~*~**~*~*~**~*~**~*~**~*~*~**~*~**~**~*~*~**~*~*  
  
It was mid-afternoon, November third, when the last of my days recorded arrived. My master got that hole in the ground. It may have been nothing more than a hole- but the roof over my hut did not even keep the rain out! Then, at nearly the same time, it would not admit sunlight.  
  
I was in my hut looking for some food. This may be a race of farmers, but little of the crops reach Saruman and I. They keep it back, the little tricksome thieves. No matter. Lotho has told me where it is hidden- and tonight I will find it- and I shall eat it.  
  
However, before I had gotten very far in my search- and finding nothing except an old bootlace- I heard Saruman's voice sounding from outside.  
  
"Worm! Worm!" Saruman called; I came out of that nearby hut, crawling, almost like a dog. I was nearly blinded by the sudden bright sunlight. I was also remembering that name.  
  
"To the road again, Worm!" Said Saruman. "These fine fellows and lordlings are turning us adrift again. Come along." We were to travel again? Where would we go? But Saruman turned to go and I shuffled after him; I hated him, I hated myself for obeying him, but I could not turn against him yet. That last, and greatest, betrayal was still before me. But even as Saruman passed close to the former Ringbearer, a knife flashed in his hand, and he stabbed swiftly. The blade turned (?!) and snapped. A dozen hobbits, led by a plump little hobbit, leaped forward with a cry and flung Saruman to the ground. The plump one drew his sword.  
  
"No Sam!" Said the Ringbearer. "Do not kill him even now. For he has not hurt me. And in any case, I do not wish him to be slain in this evil mood. He was great once, of a noble kind that we should not dare to raise our hands against. He is fallen, and his care is beyond us; but I would still spare him, in the hope that he may find it."  
  
The Ringbearer had grown. My master, Saruman, rose to his feet and stared at the Ringbearer. "You have grown, halfling," he said. "Yes, you have grown very much. You are wise, and cruel. You have robbed my revenge of sweetness, and now I must go hence in bitterness, in debt to your mercy. I hate it and you!" Well, I was none too fond of Saruman at this point in time either! "Well, I go and I shall trouble you no more. But do not expect me to wish you health and long life. You will have neither. But that is not my doing. I merely foretell." I do not know how his foretelling has come true. But I know that some measure of it is true. How much truth and how much artful half-lies? I cannot say.  
  
Saruman walked through the gathered hobbits, who parted for him. I hesitated. He had no power now. I might stay. I need not go with him, I need not- I will go with him still. He needs- no, I will not- I will go with him.  
  
What? Can I not call my mind my own? I do not let myself hear the answer to that question. I trudged after Saruman.  
  
"Wormtongue!" called the Ringbearer. "You need not follow him." I need not? "I know of no evil you have done to me." And what of that which has yet to be discovered? "You can have rest and food here for a while, until you are stronger and can go your own ways." Decent food! And a real bed. And then I might be gone to serve, truly serve- I would not betray this time, and . . .  
  
I halted and looked back at him, half prepared to stay. Then Saruman turned. "No evil?" he cackled. "Oh no! Even when he sneaks out at night it is only to look at the stars. But did I hear someone ask where poor Lotho is hiding?" Oh no. "You know, don't you Worm? Will you tell them?"  
  
I would not! I would not. I would-  
  
I became aware of myself whimpering, "No! No!" With that 'No!', I felt something in my mind begin to slide. Something from so long ago, I had forgotten it.  
  
"Then I will," said Saruman. "Worm killed your Chief, poor little fellow, your nice little Boss. Didn't you Worm? Strangled him in his sleep I believe. Buried him, I hope; though Worm has been very hungry lately. No, Worm is not really nice. You had better leave him to me."  
  
Leave myself in his care? So he might control me once more? It had been him. Ever him. Ever- I hissed at Saruman. "You told me to; you made me do it." He had, yes. But I- I had listened. And obeyed.  
  
Saruman laughed. At me! "You do what Sharkey says, always, don't you, Worm?" I had, always, yet now, this day, I became conscious of something different in me. "Well, now he says: follow!" Then he kicked me in the face.  
  
Something inside me- snapped. I was angry. It was a hot, unreasoning anger which I had thought lost to me. I drew my knife. It was good steel, forged in Rohan. I ran, overtook Saruman, and then- so easy- I slit his throat. It was so easy. He was such a frail man. And so bright the blood. Crimson.  
  
I could not linger. I yelled, and ran down the lane.  
  
I had gone three steps when something hit my back and knocked me onto my chest. I lay sprawled on the path with my head turned towards the side. I noticed a beetle. I raised my hand to lift it to my eyes- it's carapace was such a viridescent green. Odd, I couldn't move my arm.  
  
The colors, the green, the red, the dusky brown of the path, all swirled into each other, all darkening, darkening to . . . black . . . how odd . . .  
  
~Fin~ 


End file.
